Rise to the Throne
by Farugen
Summary: Ja'neel Fiiyal is a Zabrak with lofty desires: to re-establish the Sith after a period of stagnation and relative non-existence in a peaceful galaxy. The Jedi Order is strong in number, but they have grown stagnant during peacetime. During a visit to Onderon, Ja'neel encounters a young man in whom he senses extraordinary potential. Will they rise to the throne together?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

**Somewhere in the dense forests of Onderon.**

"Eight years later and it's still as inhospitable as it always was," Ja'neel mused as dove out of the way of the creature's massive fist. It had been some time since Ja'neel had last encountered a terentatek, but his distaste for them hadn't changed over the years. The massive creatures usually only grew to a height of about three and a half meters tall, but this particular specimen was anything but usual. An elder of its kind, judging from the length of the pincer-like horns protruding from the corners of its mouth, this terentatek stood nearly five meters tall. The Zabrak, not even two meters tall, was utterly dwarfed by the monstrosity.

Size wasn't everything, however, in battle situations. It was obvious to Ja'neel that he was the faster of the two. He could see the matron's wide, sweeping strikes long before they happened. He had come here for a challenge, though, and he intended to have one. The Zabrak clipped his lightsaber hilt back onto his belt, and removed his shirt. He stared straight into the eyes of his adversary, and goaded it onwards with the Force.

The terentatek was happy to oblige to his request. Dropping down to all fours, it charged at Ja'neel with surprising speed. Surprising, that is, for someone without the aid of the Force. Ja'neel waited until the last possible second before jumping up into the air, somersaulting, and landing on one of the curved horns protruding from the creature's mouth. Its eyes, small in comparison to the rest of its body, turned towards him, and it let out an ear-shattering roar that seemed to shake the forest in which they fought. The creature bucked its head wildly, attempting to toss his tiny foe from its head. Ja'neel, unable to keep his balance, was tossed into a nearby tree.

The sudden and powerful impact caused the Zabrak to black out for a brief moment. As his vision recovered, he couldn't help but notice the immense creature barreling straight for him. "Kriffing Onderon," he swore, gathering the dark side of the Force. The terentatek's deadly horns were only meters from him when he unleashed this power. The air around Ja'neel became black with an odd cloud, and this cloud shot outwards with blinding speed. Anything organic by this cloud seemed to disappear, destroyed utterly by the might of the dark side of the Force. This included, of course, the terentatek. Ja'neel stood up, exhausted from unleashing such a powerful wave of Force energy.

"A shame," muttered the Zabrak, staring at the smoking hulk of bones that was once the teretatek. "I had planned to end this creature with my own two hands." He picked up his night-black shirt, tossing it over his shoulder. Despite the presence of pestering insects in the air, Ja'neel preferred to feel the air on his bare torso. The very wind of this planet seemed to breathe the Dark Side; he basked in its security as he strode towards the nearby ruins.

"Just as I left it," muttered Ja'neel as he caught sight of the entrance to the tomb. The entrance itself was typical of any Sith burial site: a simple stone doorway with a large boulder blocking its entrance. The boulder for this particular tomb, however, had long been removed. Nostalgia washed over the Zabrak, flooding him with memories of the first time he laid eyes on this place. He had been just a boy then, scared and confused, an outcast because of his abilities. Back then, he neglected his abilities out of fear for what they could do, but now he knew better. His connection to the Force was not a curse, but a blessing. When he had been trapped here, nearly a decade ago, his knowledge of the Force had been nearly non-existent; the juxtaposition of the "before and after" images that flashed into his mind forced a chuckle from the Zabrak.

Shaking off the flashbacks, Ja'neel stepped through the ancient doorway, entering the tomb. The atmosphere immediately felt familiar to him, as if he hadn't been away for ten years. "Just as I left it," he confirmed. But it was true. The tomb hadn't changed at all. The Zabrak ran his hands across the cracked stone wall. His hand reached a deep scar in the wall that was much darker than the stone that surrounded it. There was no doubt in his mind that it was he that had caused this. "Lightning was foreign to me back then," he mused, "but now it is a reflex."

He kept walking, ignoring some of the pointless rooms in the tomb that had long since been robbed of whatever treasures they once held. Finally, Ja'neel caught sight of the room he had come here to see: the _real_ treasure room, the room that once housed the Holocron from which he had learned the ways of the Force. He noted with amusement that fragments of the wall that had once barricaded him inside this room, broken down on that fateful day ten years ago, still littered the ground outside the entrance. A feat of this magnitude had struck terror and awe into Ja'neel's mind when he had witnessed himself perform it; now, it was no more impressive to him than the simple act of levitating an object. Shaking off the past, Ja'neel took his first step into the room that had been his home for more days than he wished to recall.

_Danger._

Ja'neel bent backwards from the waist, his spine contorting to an unnatural angle, just in time to dodge the disruptor blast that blazed across the room. It struck the wall to his left, leaving a smoking hole where the stone once was. By the time the blast had struck the wall, Ja'neel's lightsaber was already in his hand, crimson blade humming, ready to defend against any more of the discharges. But they never came.

What came instead was an emerald beam of energy, slashing for the Zabrak's right calf. Ja'neel cartwheeled to his left, bringing his lightsaber up in mid-air to block the follow-up strike from his assailant. He backpedaled upon landing, attempting to get a view of the dark-cloaked figure. He wasn't given that chance. Strike after strike pounded against the his lightsaber, forcing Ja'neel to fight defensively. He seamlessly transitioned from acrobatic Ataru, which he had used to fend off the previous assault, to the defensive Soresu. Ja'neel wasn't used to being on the defensive, but it did not mean he was an ineffective defense fighter. His crimson blade flowed effortlessly to each of the assailant's intended points of contact, redirecting them so that the follow-up strike would not penetrate his defenses. He had to admit, though, this guy was good. Very good.

The cloaked figure stabbed forward with his emerald blade, attempting to pierce Ja'neel's defense. The Zabrak was familiar with this unorthodox attack, however, and was ready to act upon it. He took a step back, bringing his saber around to slam against the side of his opponent's blade. He forced the blade aside, leaving his opponent defenseless. He slid forward, bringing his left leg around in a high kick that aimed to knock the man out. Ja'neel was genuinely surprised when the figure ducked, charging forward, shoulder lowered in an attempt to knock him over. "Not kriffing likely," he swore as he threw his weight back, nulling the impact. The instant the cloaked figure came in contact with Ja'neel's body, Ja'neel swung his legs over his head, hurling the figure behind him. The Zabrak completed the maneuver by rolling to his feet and pivoting to face the figure, a sense of surprise washing over him as his eyes finally locked with his opponent's. The figure's hood had been loosed during the scuffle.

"Sithspit," swore Ja'neel, and the battle began again. "A damn kid," he thought as he brought his crimson blade up in front of his face, blocking an overhead strike from his now unmasked opponent. "So young, yet his grasp of Djem-So is nearly as good as mine. It's like watching a "How-To" holocron."

The Zabrak's hands were a blur as he fended off the boy's ferocious attacks. He didn't have a problem blocking these attacks; no, he saw them well before they actually came. The problem was that as the battle progressed, his attacks seemed to be getting faster. The boy was drawing power from some source, but Ja'neel wasn't sure what that source was. He needed time to think.

Just as the young boy's lightsaber was about to touch his own weapon, Ja'neel turned his hand, redirecting the attack. His opponent's lightsaber was forced aside, leaving him open for a split-second to a counter-attack. Ja'neel took advantage of this opportunity to slam the palm of his off-hand into the boy's chest. Right as his palm connected with his opponent, Ja'neel let loose a powerful shove with the Force, sending him sprawling across the room. The Zabrak wasted no time in changing the focus of his Force awareness from the area immediately around him to the entire room. As he did so, he noticed an immensely dark and powerful Force presence focused in a small area. He was more surprised to find that this presence was emanating from the boy. Confused, Ja'neel looked over the boy who was just rising from his slumped position against the wall opposite him. His gaze fell upon the boy's neck, from which a shining gold amulet hung. "A kriffing Sith artifact," he swore, bringing his blade back up into a ready position as the boy charged him once again.

Ja'neel took no chances this time. With a Sith artifact on his person, there was no telling how powerful this boy could actually become. The more time he stayed in physical contact with the object, the greater the degree of corruption he would take on. Ja'neel would have to end this quickly. The Force surrounded him like an ocean, engulfing him with its might. He felt what little fatigue he had been experiencing suddenly leave his body. His already near-flawless Force awareness was augmented, allowing him to see the next several attacks the boy would make before he even thought about making them. The boy moved to make an overhead strike in an attempt to cleave the Zabrak in two with sheer power; Ja'neel had already seen this, and held his saber in a typical overhead block. At the last second, he stepped to the side and spun, bringing the back of his hilt to the side of the boy's head. It made a grotesque crack as it connected with his skull, and the boy fell to the floor unconscious; his hilt hit the floor with a clunk, disigniting upon contact

Reaching down, Ja'neel tore the artifact from the boy's neck. He tossed it into the air, engulfing it in a Force grip, and crushing it into oblivion. "Gain strength by your own hand, not by the power of those who have already lost their chance. These artifacts augment the user's abilities one hundredfold; however, to be as powerful as you were now would require you to have a great deal of potential yourself," mused the Zabrak. He took a last look at the unconscious boy before walking out of the chamber. "I have a feeling I will meet him again someday," Ja'neel said as he stepped back into the wilderness of Onderon. "And I look forward to it.

The landing zone that Ja'neel's fighter had created was roughly 200 meters –long and wide—of flattened grass. Crossing from the forest into this area, Ja'neel's gaze locked onto his bland, gray fighter. He noticed a black outline moving under the belly of his ship. A spark flashed, and the figure rose to his feet, popping open the cockpit.

As the cloaked figure was popping the canopy open, Ja'neel was already sprinting towards his ship. Halfway to the ship, Ja'neel could hear the whirr of the engine as it warmed up. Leaping towards the ship, he focused on the figure in the Force, attempting to rip him from the cockpit with a powerful tug of the Force. Much to his surprise, the energy he exerted seemed to halt before the figure, reorganize itself, and change direction towards Ja'neel; this time, however, it had more power behind it than before. Only having a moment to react, Ja'neel threw a barrier of Force energy around him, causing the returning Force energy to dissipate before it reached him. Completing his jump, Ja'neel landed lightly on the nose of his fighter, raising his head to meet the eyes of his assailant. The young man smirked wryly as he climbed out his seat onto the nose of the fighter. He waved his hand back towards the cockpit, pushing the ignition in: the ship rocked as it rose into the air. Both combatants drew their lightsabers simultaneously, and the crimson blades clashed with a flash of sparks. Ja'neel transitioned immediately into Soresu, blocking and re-directing all of the figure's swift, aggressive attacks. Noticing an opening, Ja'neel moved forward quickly, sending a kick to the back of his knee, forcing him to collapse. Taking a split-second to gather his bearings, Ja'neel looked down at the ground, which was now several hundred feet below them. While his opponent was struggling to his feet, Ja'neel flipped over him, landing in the cockpit. He flipped a switch, extending the landing gear and causing the ship to begin to lower itself back down.

The assailant, by this time, had risen awkwardly to his feet, favoring the leg Ja'neel hadn't crippled with a kick. "I admire your persistence, boy, but you'd be foolish to try and stop me," Ja'neel said. He got no reply, other than an attempt at a beheading. Ja'neel's hilt flew from his belt to his hand, activating as it did so. The sabers collided and Ja'neel found his hand being pushed back slightly; the boy had the advantage of gravity on his side. Thrusting his free hand forward, Ja'neel unleashed a Force Push that sent the man skidding along the nose of the ship, and toppling over the side. His hand grasped the end of the ship in a desperate attempt to hang on. A sickening _crack_ resonated as Ja'neel's heavy boots shattered most of the bones in the boy's hand; the force of the boot pressing down on his hand, however, prevented the boy from falling.

"You are strong, boy. Your potential is great, but you'll never realize it on your own. You need a mentor... a guide... a Master. Allow me to extract from you every last drop of power that the Force has deemed you worthy of one day possessing. This is your choice: allow me to train you in the ways of the Dark Side, and together we will one day unite the Sith under my banner. You will stand by my side as my apprentice, and answering only to me. The Rule of Two we shall follow; all others will be pawns in our galaxy-spanning game of chess. . However, if one of these pawns who, like you, has been gifted with knowledge of the Force, happens to challenge and best you, your title will belong to him. Like you, my apprentice, these "Dark Jedi" will crave power. They will train their entire lives, honing their skills, with the goal of one day taking the title of Dark Lord of the Sith. You must have this mentality as well: if I am weak and foolish enough to let my guard down, you must kill me. If you do not, then you are not worthy of being a Sith.

"Or, boy, you can end it all here. I can lift my foot and let you hurtle to your death. Choose now."

It was not a difficult decision. The boy's eyes glistened as he listened to Ja'neel's words: his apprentice he would surely be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

The first image that comes to mind when most ordinary beings ponder the term "Sith Training" is most often a frightened man being lowered into hot, boiling magma. "They claim it builds character!" the uneducated masses say. "They are uncivilized barbarians!" they claim. But such stereotypes only force a hearty chuckle from the chest of the ambitious Zabrak, Ja'neel Fiiyal.

"The Sith are not so different from the Jedi, Bide," he began. The master and his newly-dubbed apprentice sat across from one another in a dimly lit chamber; one of many rooms in the well-hidden labyrinths beneath Ziost's surface. This planet is controversially considered to be the homeworld of the Sith, though archaeologists often speculate that Korriban was the true birthplace of the Sith Order. "Both desire peace in this war-torn galaxy; both desire safety and security for the inhabitants of our cozy universe. What we disagree on, then, is not the "what"—no, we disagree on the "how". Victory by any means is the course of action advocated by the majority of past Sith Lords. The Jedi frown upon this, deeming it barbaric, uncivilized—they will never sacrifice life or freedom for peace. This is their tragic, fatal flaw." The high-ceiling in the room caused his hoarse but articulate voice to echo, adding a mysterious edge to it.

"But isn't this practice of ours redundant, Master? How can we possible secure peace if we cause, like we usually do, massive casualties in the process? How can anyone ever accept us?" Young Bide, not yet twenty years old, still had a hint of boyish innocence in his voice.

"We need not be accepted, Bide. All that we require is _acknowledgment. _They must recognize that the only way for the galaxy to be at peace is by submitting to our rule."

"And if they don't? What is stopping them from rebelling? We can't really stop them _all _from rebelling against us, can we?"

A rather large insect scurried across the floor between the two Sith. Ja'neel's hand shot forward, trapping the insect beneath it. "This insect, like a rebellion, is resilient at first. It will fight bravely, with some success, for a "greater good", a "nobler cause". But then this rebellion, blinded by the idea that the justice it fights for is all it needs for victory, will encounter something that initiates its painful downfall: defeat. The rebellion will lose. Once they lose, they begin to question the cause that they, not long ago, so valiantly fought for. 'How can we lose?!' they will say. 'We fight for a noble cause! Peace! Freedom! Justice!'" Ja'neel removed his hand from over the bug, picking it up with his other hand. It lashed out at the hand with its pincers, piercing Ja'neel's skin. In response, Ja'neel crushed two of its six legs with his thumb and forefinger. It abandoned its aggressive tactics, and instead began to seek a viable route of escape from its lofty perch.

"Once they have sufficiently questioned their cause," he continued, "they will lose morale and, like this insect, seek 'a way out'. But a rebel is always a rebel at heart, and if they are allowed to live they will cause potentially fatal problems in the future. Rebellions must be utterly and completely destroyed: every single person who was associated with it." Ja'neel clenched his fist, crushing the insect. "Many of the rebels will attempt to obtain amnesty by switching sides—get what you can out of them, but _never_ allow defectors to your side, for if they are willing to betray one side they will have no qualms with betraying you."

"But how can we be sure that the rebellion can be defeated? If they can gather enough members to their cause, they can theoretically overpower us, can't they?"

"Anything is possible, Bide, but rebellions of the magnitude you propose take a lot of time to prepare. Such a project is ambitious, and in the time that it would take for it to be organized an effective ruler would have his rule solidified—through any means necessary. Fear is a more reliable way to maintain power than kindness. However, herein lies the folly of countless Sith Lords, Bide: they replace the original idea of a peaceful galaxy ruled by fear with a stagnant, fetid galaxy ruled by crazed cruelty. In other words, they overestimate the amount of fear they must instill."

"It makes sense, I guess. But how do you know when you're acting… intelligently while still making the correct impression on the populace?"

"It's simple: you must learn how to put yourself in the mindset of the populace. How would you feel if, say, we slaughtered an entire village of farmers, razed their crops, and defiled their women in order to put a government listening post on the land?"

"Well, I suppose I would be content that we got the job done. 'Through any means necessary,' right?"

"Wrong. Being a Sith, despite common belief, is not about high collateral damage. Only a foolish, over-zealous Sith would do such a thing. Wiping an entire village off the map so that the government can have a place to spy from is not going to cause the populace to fear us: it's going to cause them to resent us. It is actions like this that incite rebellions."

"But if the listening post was necessary, wouldn't it be worth it? What would you do, Master?"

"Tell me what _you_ would do, Bide. There are always multiple approaches to any given situation. Sometimes, even multiple ways to execute the same approach. Think."

The young Sith Apprentice furrowed his brow in thought, placing his thumb and forefinger on his chin contemplatively. "Well, I suppose that we don't have to destroy the village ourselves in order to get it out of the way. We could hire mercenaries to get the job done. They would go in, raze the village, loot it; make it look like it was a planned attack. If we went in and took care of the mercenaries, we would have room for our listening post _and_ we would look good for saving them." He stared at his Master, awaiting an answer.

Ja'neel's lips curled into a grin.

"You may just have a future in this, Bide."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"_**The most fatal mistake you can make is not knowing what you're going up against."**_

These words echoed incessantly in Bide's mind. It was such a basic concept, yet so utterly important-or so his master believed. And, by now, Bide had learned that his master never wasted any words. Despite his outwardly rugged, brutish appearance, Ja'neel was surprisingly sophisticated. His eloquence was on a level beyond that of any being that Bide had met in his travels, and his knowledge of politics and the way beings think was simply astounding. On the other hand, Ja'neel was also the most devastatingly powerful being he had ever encountered: his skill with a lightsaber was unmatched, and his knowledge of the Force was almost as impressive. Bide often wondered what the Zabrak saw in him, someone whose abilities were dwarfed when compared with his own.

"Now arriving at Topeka station. All passengers, please remember to take all of your belongings off of the rail-car when you depart. Thank you for riding with us, have a wonderful day."

Bide rose from his seat and walked over to the door of the rail-car. The door was transparent, allowing Bide a view of the countless skyscrapers that lined the skyline of Coruscant as they whizzed by. They became clearer as the rail-car lowered its speed, preparing to stop at the next station.

"Disgusting," he spat lowly. He was always sickened by the ruination of planets by so-called "technological marvels". Why anyone would prefer miles of six hundred foot tall buildings to a vast expanse of grasslands and forests was beyond him. The sooner he could leave this planet, the better. The transparent door opened with a hiss, and Bide felt himself being pushed from behind as busy city-goers funneled out of the car. He disregarded the rudeness and began scanning the crowd gathered at the platform. They all seemed innocent enough, waiting for their scheduled rail-car to arrive. All of them were doing just that, or so he guessed; all of them except one, that is.

His name was Jorb Kleen, a connoisseur of items that were difficult to come by. That is to say, he dealt exclusively with contraband goods: he was a notorious black market dealer. But Bide knew that Ja'neel was not interested in death-sticks, exotic animals, or exotic women. Rather, he was interested in expanding his network of connections in the galaxy. Ja'neel was borderline obsessive in his use of time; every single second meant something to the eccentric Zabrak. He would not waste his time scouring the galaxy for long-forgotten Sith artifacts as many of his predecessors did. Instead, he had sent Bide to make a deal with Kleen: whenever an item happened to come into his possession that was possibly of Sith origin, he would contact Ja'neel and would be paid handsomely for his services. That was the plan, anyway. Kleen was a businessman, and a damned good one. Bide didn't doubt that he would spring on the possibility of a higher bidder if the opportunity arose. It was Bide's job to make sure that he saw that option was... not in his best interests.

There he was: average height, a little on the skinny side, noticeably receding hairline. He was totally inconspicuous, though on a planet with trillions of beings it was not incredibly difficult to do so. Kleen had been anonymous contacted and informed to meet a "business liason"—at least, that is what Ja'neel had called him—at Topeka station. He had been suspicious at first, since the specifics of the deal were never mentioned, but Ja'neel was a smooth talker; in no time at all, he had him accepting the deal. Bide approached him.

"Always too damned crowded here, isn't it?" he said.

"Usually is," Kleen replied. He had bags under his eyes, and his face was covered in five o'clock shadow. It was pretty obvious to Bide that Kleen was not very happy to be here right now.

"Maybe we should go somewhere we could talk," Bide offered. "Alone." Kleen's gaze fell from Bide's face down to his waist. He held it there. Confused, Bide looked down. "Oh," he said suddenly, realizing why Kleen had been staring. Bide hadn't noticed that his hands were shoved deep into his pockets.

_**Always keep your hands where your contact can see them. And make sure you can always see his.**_

He had forgotten one of Ja'neel's more important instructions. Off to a great start. He slowly removed his hands from his pockets, flashed Kleen an apologetic smile, and gestured with an open hand towards an alleyway. "After you." Kleen grinned and let out a low chuckle. He turned and walked into the alley-way.

It was a typical Coruscant alley, littered with trash and coated in a thin layer of unidentifiable substances. It reeked of pollution and Force knows what else, and Bide felt his eyes begin to water. Perhaps this was not the best choice of location for the meeting-perhaps there was still time to change it. Ja'neel told him that one's body language could make or break a deal. If Bide couldn't even handle a smelly alley, what would make Kleen think he could handle any sort of black market trading? He was about to open his mouth to address Kleen when he felt the familiar sensation of cold durasteel touch his neck.

"I wouldn't move if I were you," the cold voice of his assailant stated. Kleen turned around, wielding a hold-out blaster, which he pointed at Bide's stomach.

"The Jedi will pay handsomely for a Sith sympathizer," he said. He took out a communication device from a pouch on his belt and clicked a button. Static.

"Kriffin' buildings," he swore. "Don't get any service here. Search him and cuff him while I call the Jedi with our location. Boy, oh boy... I can smell the credits already. We're gonna be filthy, stinkin' rich, Jurn." He laughed as he walked towards the end of the alley, away from Topeka station.

Bide felt his hopes and dreams crumbling beneath him. Had he failed his master already? It was too soon. He hadn't gotten a real chance to prove himself.

_**Center yourself. Use your emotions; control them. Do not let them control you. They can be a powerful weapon, but they can also be a deadly enemy.**_

Ja'neel was right. He would accomplish nothing if he gave up already. He was strong, he could handle himself. And, if he played his cards right, he could still get the deal set up. Calmed now, he spoke:

"Jurn, is it? So, you and Kleen work with the Jedi?" He felt his assailant pat him down, searching for any hidden weapons. His hand brushed loosely against Bide's lightsaber hilt, hidden against the inner thigh of his right leg. Bide held his breath. When Jurn continued his search, he let out a sigh and smiled. This man-or perhaps it was a woman?-was inexperienced. Nervous. He could feel it now. The anxiety, the strained attempt at keeping calm. But it was difficult to sense; at least, more difficult than with most beings. Jurn's mind was veiled. He was blocking-or attempting to block-any mental intrusions. No wonder Bide hadn't felt Jurn coming: he was Force sensitive. He had been masking his presence.

Bide saw Kleen return his comm device into his belt and turn back towards the alley-way. Jurn cuffed Bide's hands, and pressed the barrel of the blaster more firmly against his neck. Things were about to get very interesting.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

The recently dubbed Sith apprentice's mind teemed with hundreds of different scenarios. How would this Force sensitive assailant react to an attack? How much training does he or she have? He already knew that this person lacked real experienced in matters such as this, but he could only speculate very broadly on the level of martial training he or she had undergone.

"So, Jurn," Bide began. The cold touch of the blaster barrel on his neck shifted location to a lower point of his neck. He smirked. His assailant's arm was tiring; a female, perhaps. Or a young man. "How long have you and Kleen been working together?" The barrel pressed more firmly into Bide's neck.

"Alright, alright, relax. I'm not making any moves here—just talking." Bide knew he only had precious minutes before Kleen returned, and by then the chances of him getting out of the situation would drop significantly. He decided to go for the stereotypical Sith approach. "It's uncommon for Force sensitive beings to be able to shield their mind from intrusion without having prior training. Are you just naturally gifted, or did the Jedi give you the boot?"

"Shut up," Jurn spat. The voice was gruff and distorted.

"A voice modifier? You're really making an effort to conceal your identity. What've you got to hide?"

"I told you to shut up, damnit!" Bide reacted instantly as Jurn moved to bash his head with the barrel of the blaster. The moment the cold sensation on his neck lessened even the slightest bit, he dropped to a crouch and threw his weight forward onto his hands. As his weight shifted, he kicked his legs backwards, connecting with Jurn's knees; they buckled, and Jurn fell to the ground. Bide ripped the blaster away from Jurn with a telekinetic pull and called it to his own hand. He pointed it at the forehead of his assailant, who now kneeled helplessly before him, staring at the ground, head adorned with a concealing cloth.

Bide was about to address all the questions teeming in his mind when he felt a familiar presence begin to move towards them: Kleen was returning. "Sithspit," he swore, and as a result actually began to wonder if this was an appropriate swear word considering that he was now a Sith apprentice. He shook off this idle curiosity, however, and formulated a plan.

"Stand up," Bide ordered. Jurn looked up at Bide for a brief moment before complying. Bide then switched the blaster's safety on and removed the blaster pack, tossing the now useless weapon back to Jurn. "Go on, press it back against my neck, same as before," he commanded, turning around. He felt the cold sensation return as Kleen rounded the corner.

"Jurn! The Jedi are on their way now. They said they'd be here in ten minutes."

"Good. The sooner we get our money, the better," Jurn replied. Kleen didn't pick up on it, but Bide noticed how forced Jurn's words sounded: clearly, Jurn was contemplating whether to signal Kleen to the change in situation that occurred.

"Yeah, I'm with you there. Let's get him secured for when they arrive." Kleen removed a pair of stun cuffs from his back pocket, his hold-out blaster idle in his hand, and approached Bide.

_Now._

Bide gathered the Force and sent a powerful wave of energy towards Kleen who, with no means to defend himself against such an attack, was sent flying down the alleyway. He slid along the rough ground and crashed into a pile of garbage. Kleen groaned, sitting up and rubbing his now spinning head. When he saw Bide, lightsaber hilt in hand, walking towards him, he discharged a barrage of bolts from his hold-out blaster. These bolts reflected harmlessly off Bide's crimson blade, ricocheting into the sides of the buildings surrounding them. The black market dealer dropped his weapon and held his hands up in surrender.

"P-please, don't kill me! It's just business! J-just business…!" he stammered.

Bide stood over him, lightsaber humming at his side, and extended his off-hand towards Kleen; he rose into the air, his arms and legs splayed out to the side. "Talk."

"W-well, I always do background checks on clients—for safety reasons, you know? When I checked up on your boss—er, master—I noticed that he had a particular interest in Sith artifacts. So I, uh, sent a few of my men after him, to test him, y'know? Well, they're… gone now, but the footage they got from the encounter survived. He handled a squad of handpicked soldiers without moving an inch! I was sure, then, that he was one of those dark Jedi fellas."

Bide couldn't help but smirk. An interesting oversight on Ja'neel's part. He was all for discreetness, but he let footage of him massacring some mercenaries be preserved? Perhaps he wasn't as meticulous with details as he appeared to be.

Kleen dropped to the ground and Bide turned back to Jurn, who hadn't moved a step since Kleen returned to the alley. He had to do something with the two of them—but what? He furrowed his brow. What would Ja'neel do? Well, he wouldn't have got himself into this situation in the first place. But if he was in this situation…

"Jurn, come over here," Bide said, waving Jurn over. Jurn complied without objection, and walked over to where Kleen sat motionless, fearing for his life. "Take off your mask," he ordered, angling his blade between the pair. Jurn hesitated, then unraveled the black cloth mask.

She was beautiful, even by Hapan standards. Her golden hair flowed down to the middle of her back, and her face was perfect in every aspect: high cheekbones, smooth white skin with a hint of pink at the cheeks, and full pink lips. Her eyes, a deep blue, softened the anger her arched eyebrows seemed to portray. Bide stared unwaveringly into her mystifying eyes as he plunged his humming blade into the center of Kleen's face. The pungent aroma of burnt flesh filled the air as the Jorb Kleen fell, dead, to the ground.

"He knew too much," Bide explained.

"You're going to have to kill me, then," Jurn stated defiantly.

"No, I won't. You're not nearly experienced enough for a thug like Kleen to trust with all the details. My guess? He only picked you because you have some training with your Force abilities. Probably thought it would come in handy when you tried to capture me."

"But we did capture you."

"Hardly. I was in your control for all of ten seconds. After that, you had no chance."

"I don't think you understand, Sith. Everything that happened was planned for. Kleen was just a pawn, a means to an end." Her perfect lips parted as she smiled. "Once I get the information I need from you, I am going to kill you. Then, when you're dead, I'll bring your mutilated body before your master, and then I'll kill him too!"

Bide could feel Jurn's anger spike in the Force when she mentioned Ja'neel. "Really, now? How are you planning on doing any of that?"

"Don't you worry about that—you should be worrying about how you're going to deal with _them,_ for now," Jurn said, sounding utterly satisfied.

Bide turned around just in time to hear, "By the authority of the Jedi Order, you are under arrest," and see green and blue and yellow lightsabers come to life.

"Sithspit," he swore, and he wondered if he would ever be able to question the appropriateness of using that word again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

"_The Jedi are obnoxiously self-righteous beings," Ja'neel had said. "They're quick to advocate non-violence, but the first to take the path of greatest resistance. They grow stale in their Temples, drilling incessantly—but for what? The Sith are nothing but a myth to them, tales that the Masters tell to keep the younglings on their toes. But deep in their hearts, they know that we lurk in the darkness. The Jedi are many things, my apprentice, but more than anything else they are afraid."_

From the brief ten seconds that Bide had to observe the trio of Jedi, he learned one thing: Ja'neel was utterly, completely correct. The Jedi had not fooled him with their almost robotic recitation of their apparent authority. This was simply a way for them to comfort themselves, cushion their fragile minds from the reality of the situation: they were not prepared in the least to face the Sith. All their years of stagnation, all their years of assurance that the Force was guiding _them_ to victory—all of it was for naught. They were afraid.

Absorbed in his epiphanic moment, Bide had nearly forgotten that he was indeed about to face a trio of these terminally fearful beings. The first, the one who had made their presence known by announcing that Bide was under arrest, was a formidable-looking Nautolan male. He stood about two meters tall and his billowy robes did little to hide the impressive mass of muscle beneath them. The dark green tentacles protruding from his head draped down over his shoulders down to the center of his back. To his left, an almost comical juxtaposition to the Nautolan, was a portly Sullustan that stood only a meter tall. His almond-shaped black eyes were unprotected by any sort of eye-wear, so Bide assumed his was in his early or late twenties; young enough that the above-ground light had not yet caused his vision to deteriorate. Finally, Bide rested his gaze on the third, and most perplexing, Jedi: a human male, well into his seventies (or so Bide guessed), his hair long since grayed and his wrinkled face unshaven. He stood slightly hunched over, his dark brown robes completely covering his elderly form. Bide couldn't help but let out a hearty chuckle.

"Is this all the Jedi could muster? You finally have a Sith before you, and you send a old man, a fish, and a midget? Do you really think that you have a chance of defeating me?" He angled his crimson blade at the trio; its light flooded the dark alleyway, illuminating the puddles of disturbingly viscous fluid.

"Lay down your weapon, Sith, and we will not harm you in any way," said the elderly Jedi. He stood up straighter, now, and stared unwaveringly at Bide. When Bide made no attempt to comply with his request, he shifted into a Makashi salute; the Nautolan and Sullustan took the stances of Djem So and Shien, respectively.

The Force began to flow intensely into Bide as his anxiety grew; the thrill of the fight excited him. He wanted to fight, wanted to kill. He wanted to prove his superiority—the superiority of the Sith. He bobbed up and down like a boxer before the bell, then, without warning, he leapt at the Jedi.

The combatants were a blur of colors—red, blue, green, yellow—as their blades clashed, retreated, and clashed again. Bide's crimson blade, however, moved far faster, seeming to be everywhere at once. He wasn't on the defense, despite him being outnumbered; Juyo was horrifically potent in his hands. To Bide, the Jedi were moving in slow motion. He could see all of their moves individually, and react with plenty of time. He was toying with them now, wearing them down, destroying whatever hope they had of being the victors.

Bide set his sights on the Sullustan, ostensibly the weakest of the three. He was tiring already, becoming weary under Bide's relentless assault. The yellow lightsaber in his stubby fingers moved slower every second, and after only a few minutes, he was not able to perform any attacks of his own; he was completely on the defensive. Bide moved to block a high attack from the Nautolan Jedi, and then dropped to a crouch and slammed his palm into the ground, sending a shockwave of Force energy traveling outwards. As expected, both the Nautolan and the Human Jedi put up a Force barrier before the wave hit them, preventing them from being knocked over but still sending them sliding backwards. The Sullustan, on the other hand, was not so lucky. He lacked the energy to execute such a focus-demanding technique and, as a result, was knocked onto his back. Bide spun his blade in a quick flourish before plunging it into the chest of the now wide-eyed Sullustan, removing it just in time to block a strike from the Nautolan with the intent to bisect him.

"Eyom, no!" shouted the Nautolan. The pace of his attacks increased, and Bide was momentarily forced onto the defensive. High attacks, low, feints; this Nautolan was surely a proficient Makashi-user. He swung low, and when Bide moved to block it he was rewarded with a powerful elbow to the jaw that sent him sprawling. But the Sith apprentice had no time to recover, for the old human hurled a surprisingly powerful Force Wave towards him. With no time to block the attack, Bide was sent flying down the alley.

He barely had time to stand up before the Nautolan was on him again. "Kriffin' fish-head," thought Bide. He had forgotten how attached to one another the Jedi are: kill one, the others go on some sort of frenzy that makes them much more dangerous. But, as far as Bide was concerned, they still had no chance. He shifted gradually from the defensive Soresu that he had been forced into, back to his preferred stance of Juyo. Signs of fatigue were beginning to show on the Nautolan's face, now. His lips were pursed, his face wrinkled with strain, and his bulbous, glossy eyes were wide with fear. He was afraid.

Bide initiated a furious assault against the Nautolan's defense. He feinted high, then, when the Jedi moved to block it, snap-kicked him in the knee. The Nautolan yelped as he knee-cap was shattered, causing him to fall helplessly onto the ground. This was the last sound the Jedi ever made, as Bide severed his head with a single, swift stroke. It fell with a sickening squish to the ground, its bulbous black eyes just as lifeless in death as they were in life.

"And then there was one," Bide mocked, waving the elderly Jedi over. The old man's shoulders sagged submissively as he stared at the fallen bodies of his fellow Jedi. His grip on his lightsaber loosened; it fell, lifeless, to the ground.

"We didn't believe the call was real," the old man explained, his voice betraying his advanced age. "We've received so many of them in the past that we're used to false alarms. But we have to take the calls. The Council makes sure we do, just for that one time that the call will be real." He looked at the two bodies again and added, "Like this time."

"Seems like you've answered one too many of these calls, old man. Don't worry, your death will be quick and painless. I have a deadline to meet." Bide began to walk towards the last remaining of his three opponents.

"There is no death, there is the Force," said the old Jedi defiantly. He tightened his robe around him and stood up straight, his eyes burning with final defiance.

"Your Code won't save you now, Jedi. Accept that these are your final seconds in this world." Bide began to sprint, now, lightsaber extended to his side, preparing to strike down his last opponent.

"Then you must accept that they are yours, as well." As Bide began his bisecting strike, the elderly Jedi exerted himself in the Force, and the fallen Nautolan's blazed to life and flew towards Bide. The smell of burnt flesh filled the air, and the Jedi fell in two pieces to the floor. Bide looked down and saw the glowing green blade protruding from just above his left hip. Pain engulfed his entire body, and Bide felt his vision begin to blur.

_Pain should never defeat you, my apprentice. Pain should fuel you, give you strength. That which does not kill you immediately can be used to give you power greater than you ever thought you could wield. If death does not takes you first, the pain from battle wounds will drive you to victory—unless you allow the pain to defeat you._

"I'm letting my pain get the best of me," Bide thought. "Exactly what Ja'neel warned me against." He gathered the Force within himself, using it first to shut off the lightsaber protruding from his back; it clattered to the ground, lifeless. The Force increased the rate at which his body was pumping out adrenaline; the pain lessened, at least for now. He needed to treat his wounds, and soon. Bide turned and prepared to leave the alley. Instead of an empty alleyway, however, he was face-to-face with Jurn once again.

"Don't tell me you forgot about me already," she said, reaching up and stroking his cheek. Bide had forgotten all about her. The faultless Hapan woman looked down at the still-smoking flesh on Bide's torso. "Ooh, that looks like it _really_ hurts." As she said this, she reached down and ran her fingers along the wound. Bide winced in pain and pushed her away.

"I've already killed three people, I have problem killine one more. Though, I do find you much more attractive than those three."

"I appreciate the complement, but _I_ will be the one doing the killing," she replied, cackling with laughter. Her presence in the Force seemed to increase one hundred-fold, and she removed a long, shining hilt from the folds of her clothing. She depressed two buttons on the hilt, and a crimson blade protruded from the emitters at each end of the hilt. "You are not the only one who refers to himself as a Sith. There are many of us out there; dozens of Dark Jedi cults, each containing people who stake claim to the mantle of the Sith. I am one of those people."

"There is only one person whose claim to the mantle is legitimate, Jurn," said Bide. "But you won't have the pleasure of meeting him. You'll die here, by my hand." He angled his blade towards her and goaded her over.

"We shall see."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

"_**Appearances can be deceiving, my apprentice. Trust not your eyes when sizing up an opponent; trust only in the Force. Through the Force, and only through the Force, will you be able to judge the strength of your opponent and, once you do so, whether to fight or live to take vengeance at a more opportune moment."**_

When Jurn revealed her true identity as a Sith cultist, Bide was certain that he could take her on. Cultists were simply crazed fools with delusions of power—they were not warriors, they were not Sith. Bide was a Sith. He was strong in the Force, he was skilled with a lightsaber, he was cunning in battle.

But Jurn was all these things and more. Bide knew it the moment her true strength broke through the restraints in which she had been containing it. The way she held her blade with poise despite having seen the skill with which Bide used a lightsaber betrayed her vast experienced. She had already proved her cunning by luring Bide into this trap. Jurn had taken no risks; if Bide had proved to be more powerful than she, the fight, however brief, with the Jedi would have worn him down to a level that she could handle. This precaution had proved unnecessary, for Bide knew that even if he was fresh he could not take her in single combat.

"I will tell your master how you cried out like a baby nexu before you died," mocked Jurn confidently. Her previously alluring blue eyes now showed hints of a yellowish hue.

"Speaking will prove difficult if your head isn't attached to your body." Bide needed to buy some time to think. How could he defeat an opponent so much more powerful than he was?

Jurn spread her feet apart and shifted her right foot back, lowering her center of gravity slightly. "Your time as a Sith will prove short-lived. But do not fret; your master will not survive much longer."

With that, she leapt towards Bide with speed that the young Sith was unprepared for—he backpedaled, bringing his blade up in a weak guard, the only defense he could muster. Jurn gave him no time to recover, continuing her ferocious assault. Her lightsaber seemed to have dozens of blades, rather than two, forcing Bide to remain in the defensive Soresu, a form he was not entirely comfortable using. He was no longer consciously moving his body; he had given himself fully to the Force the moment Jurn initiated her assault. Wherever his blade needed to be, he found that it was there. He had time to analyze her, now; he had time to find an opening.

_Crack_.

He felt his vision go blurry as Jurn's elbow smashed into his nose. Stumbling back, he sloppily blocked her follow-up attacks. He couldn't see where the colliding blades were, but from the heat he felt Bide knew that they were dangerously close to his face. As his vision recovered, Bide noticed that the rate at which his blade had to move to intercept Jurn's was increasing as the fight went on. She was just toying with him. Soon enough, he would be unable to block her attacks. He would be dead.

Seemingly on cue, Jurn feinted a sweep at Bide's left hip. When shifted his blade to intercept the attack, Jurn disengaged, pivoting to the right and stabbing her double-bladed lightsaber backwards into Bide's right thigh. Pain engulfed him like a blazing fire, and he found himself unable to move. He dropped to his left knee, dropping his lightsaber, and looked up at his executioner. Her lips parted in a cruel, toothy smile as she extended her blade behind her, preparing to give the finishing blow. Bide closed his eyes. He readied himself for death, for the completion of his failure. For disappointment.

Silence.

Then a scream.

The air was very suddenly filled with a loud, crackling noise. Bide felt his hair stand on end, and his nostrils were filled with the familiar scent of burnt flesh. He opened his eyes.

"Master…? How did you know where I was?"

The Zabrak, clad in a night-black hooded robe, stood over the still-smoking corpse of Jurn, burnt beyond recognition by the lightning that had coursed through her veins. He ignored his apprentice's question, saying instead, "Good work. The negotiations went just as planned." He knelt down, picking up the discarded lightsaber staff, testing its functionality. Its emitters crackled with energy, but emitted no blade. Ja'neel tossed the hilt aside dismissively.

"What? 'Just as planned'? I almost _died_, damnit."

"Almost," Ja'neel agreed. "But you didn't. Almost is a useless word, Bide."

"What are you _talking _about, master?" Bide rose, with some difficulty, to his feet, favoring his left leg. He picked up his hilt and clipped it back on his belt.

Ja'neel chuckled and threw back his hood, allowing the dim light from the alley to shine off his tattoos. "Jorb Kleen was just a front-man for the Cult of Bane. He would pretend to deal in the procurement of artifacts 'likely of Sith origin,' then do some digging on whoever was interested. If the leaders of the Cult of Bane found there to be reason to believe that it was an opposing cult looking to obtain these nonexistent artifacts, they would send someone like her to take them out," he explained, nudging Jurn's corpse with his foot.

"How'd you find that out?"

"I did a little digging of my own, my apprentice. We can't have these imbeciles running around, calling themselves Sith. They give us a reputation—we don't need a reputation at all, yet, especially not a bad one."

"Wait, wait—if you knew who Kleen was, why in the Force did you send _me_ to 'make a deal' with him? I could've _died_!"

"You could have. But you didn't. Stop dealing in 'could have' and 'almost'. All that matters is what _did_ happen."

"Alright, alright. But why me? You could have handled this much more quietly than I did."

Ja'neel shot his apprentice an admonishing glance. "Yes, I _could have_, Bide. But that wouldn't have been as productive as this turned out to be. Realize this, Bide: for all the potential you have, there are those with more. You have to be wary of everyone, Jedi and cultist alike. There are Force-sensitive beings born every day, and each is a threat to you. This one here," he nudged Jurn's corpse again, "she is average, at best. Hundreds more like her will end up trying to steal your claim to the mantle. Hundreds more powerful than her will try to kill you, as well. You must be ready for each and every one of them. Right now, you are not prepared to face them; you have just begun your training. Are you ready to take the next step, now, towards your immersion into the ways of the Sith?"

Bide answered without hesitation. "More than ready… my Lord."

Ja'neel draped his hood back over his face, cackling as master and apprentice left the corpse-littered alley behind, a new chapter in their journey about to begin.


	7. Chapter 7

**Epilogue**

"Don't be nervous, it's just another mission," Bide thought, his attempt at reassurance doing little to quell his anxieties. The building before was incredibly daunting; a symbol of hope, order, and stability for most, but for him it was a reminder of his goal.

A year and six months to the day had passed since his encounter with the cultist, Jurn, on Coruscant. A year and six months since his _real_ training with the aspiring Sith Lord, Ja'neel Fiiyal, had begun. It was more intense than he could ever have imagined, and traumatic enough that he'd never forget.

"_Wrong! You just lost your left arm. How do you plan to survive the rest of the fight with only one arm?"_

_Ja'neel stood before him-bare except for cloth bottoms that reached his mid-thigh—still in his distinctive fighting stance, knees bent slightly, feet spread wide apart, with his body angled slightly to the right. Bide could see now why the Jedi had named the seventh form that of Ferocity—perhaps they had a vision of this moment, of a ruthless, ferocious Zabrak effortlessly overwhelming his apprentice._

_Luckily for Bide, Ja'neel forbid the use of real lightsabers in training sessions—or any type of lightsaber, for that matter. Instead, he made use of one of the more creative Sith training weapons: a firm durasteel rod, covered from the end of the grip to the rounded tip in the microscopic barbs of the pelko bug. A single touch to exposed skin would leave the adjoining limb numb and useless for hours afterwards. Even without the poisonous barbs, however, Bide reminded himself that they were still essentially beating one another with metal rods._

_The Sith apprentice's left arm hung uselessly at his side, the surprisingly light metal rod now grasped tightly in his right hand._

"_Lightsaber combat is not about guessing where and when your opponent will strike next. Your Force awareness is absolutely key—it needs to be flawless for you to be an effective swordsman. Once your Force awareness heightened, you'll find that you fall into a rhythm—you don't feel yourself moving to block or parry your opponents attacks, but you know that your blade will be where it needs to be. You've probably felt this before, at least for a short period of time. You must be able to transition into this state at _any_ moment."_

_Bide nodded obediently. He'd heard this before, but it was different in training. When his life was in danger on Coruscant, he'd entered this state of mind: had was the perfect warrior, unstoppable. It was like his opponents were moving in slow motion. But then he was stopped. It was a fleeting moment, that feeling of invincibility, but it had happened. He just wasn't sure how to tap into it again._

_And then it hit him—quite literally, in fact. The barb-covered metal rod smashed into Bide's left cheek, sending him stumbling, struggling to maintain consciousness. Blood welled up in his mouth and he was sure that his jaw was broken. He couldn't turn his head. But before he could take time to assess his injuries, he felt a pressing sense of danger in the back of his mind. He swung his right arm around to his back and a loud _clang_ resounded as it made contact with his master's weapon. Bide spun around now, his above-neck paralysis causing his head to remain stuck looking slightly to the right, and faced Ja'neel._

"_Dire situations bring out abilities we would otherwise not have known we possessed," Ja'neel mused. He pushed forward with a series of attacks, testing Bide's burgeoning abilities, a pleased smile forming on his face as his apprentice blocked each one with apparent ease. "Can you feel that, Bide? Hold onto the feeling that you have now—the feeling of keen awareness, of oneness with your surroundings. Hold onto it, for without it you will not survive long enough to take the mantle of the Sith from me."_

Bide's hand traced the scar on his left cheek, a memento of that day. It was less prominent than it was in the first few months following that day, but he knew it would never go away; he didn't want it to. He took solace in knowing that all his pain had not been in vain; Ja'neel had made sure of that. His master, eccentric as he may appear to be, is, if nothing else, efficient: everything he does has an its purpose.

As Bide reached the last of the steps leading up to the Jedi Temple, he felt his fears and anxieties wither away. He was strong. He was ready. He was a Sith.

The Gate Master, flanked by a pair of armor-clad Jedi Brutes, and addressed him.

"Greetings. I am Jedi Master Jokk Tanj," began the Iktotchi, his gleaming hilt clearly visible on his belt. The pink-skinned Jedi stood casually before Bide, the thumbs of his giant looped around his proportionally large belt, his unusually large horns extended down past his chest, concluding in a slight curve. "What can I do for you, young man?"

Bide glanced at the three Jedi before clearing his throat, flashing the most boyish grin he could muster, and saying, "Hello, my name is Bide Shriek. I'm here to join the Jedi Order."


	8. Chapter 8

**Jedi Temple, Coruscant**

**Present Day (two years after the conclusion of chapter seven)**

Her skin was soft like velvet, her lips moist and pleasant. Everything was perfect. They sat against the base of a shady assari tree, on the soft grass that blanketed the vast Room of a Thousand Fountains. Ache suddenly pushed against Bide's chest and pulled out of the kiss.

"We shouldn't be doing this," she objected. Her eyes, a blue as deep as the waters of the ocean, glistened with regret.

"It feels right," Bide protested. He stroked her cheek with his right hand and smiled.

"But the Code forbids it—it's wrong!" Ache grabbed his hand and pulled it away from her face. She began to stand up

"But it _feels_ right," he repeated. He clasped his hands over her shoulders and pushed her back down. She yelped in surprise.

"Ow! Bide!" Her deep blue eyes were now wide with surprise. The _qukuuf_ adorning her face, a trademark of her Kiffar heritage, stretched as her facial expression changed from regretful to surprised.

"Don't ignore your feelings, Ache. Don't you love me?"

"I… I don't know what I feel."

"Yes you do. Don't fight your emotions!"

"_'There is no emotion; there is peace,'_" she said hesitantly.

He looked into her eyes.

_Hopeless. Unworthy._

Bide rose to his feet, staring distantly at the great waterfall, the treasure of the Room of a Thousand Fountains. He heard the rustle of grass, and felt a hand gently touch his shoulder.

"It isn't you, Bide. It's juuaahh!"

Ache's apologetic words were lost in the sound of her gasping and gurgling as she struggled to breathe. She grasped at her neck, trying to remove hands that weren't there. Bide turned around just as she fell to the ground, flawless golden hair splayed outwards, struggling for only a moment longer.

_Now, to play the part._

He knelt down beside her and shouted her name, asking what was happening. He looked into her eyes one last time. He couldn't help but smile as the look on her face—final and eternal—begged a question he felt obligated to answer.

Bide gently rested her head onto the soft grass and rose to his feet, false tears streaming down his face.

_"Because you tempted me."_


	9. Chapter 9

**Jedi Temple, Coruscant**

**Two years ago, weeks before chapter eight**

"The temptation of the Dark Side of the Force is a lure that many, even Jedi, have fallen prey to."

Bide rolled his eyes. _Fallen prey to?_ Typical of the Masters—speaking in such a derogatory fashion about something they do not understand. Bide had a special place in his heart—deep, deep down in its lowest recesses—for the Master speaking now, a mass of wrinkles and gray hair named Randall Flagg. The elderly human Jedi Master spoke in a hushed but strained voice, through dry, peeling lips. If you were unlucky enough to be called upon by the rapidly deteriorating instructor, you would find yourself fixed with an unwavering, piercing gaze from his milky blue eyes.

"Is there something you wish to add, young Shriek?" asked Master Flagg. His milky eyes settled on Bide. The young Sith felt a chill ready to run down his spine, and it took all his willpower to halt it.

"Uh," he started. "Not really, no." His right hand tapped anxiously on his right thigh, and he took a moment to look around the room at the two dozen other Initiates seated cross-legged on blue cushioned mats in the lecture chamber. They all seemed to be fixing Bide with a cold, accusing stare.

Master Flagg ran a hand through his wild gray hair, causing it to slick back for a few moments before springing back into its formerly unkempt state. "Are you sure?"

Bide clenched his jaw. "_Quite_ sure, Master Flagg."

"Truly?"

"_Yes,_ Master Flagg. _Truly_."

"Aha. Why don't you tell us what you wish to say, young Shriek? Comments of all kinds are encouraged in this class."

The sudden urge to blast the aging Jedi with lightning welled up in Bide's stomach. He kept this feeling well hidden, however, as he did all his feelings. His thoughts and intentions were a mystery to all but Bide himself, unless he felt the need to broadcast them.

"Very well, Master," Bide began. It took a strong mental effort for him to prevent the disgust and malice teeming in his mind from seeping into his words as he spoke. "I can't help but feel that we are not getting the _full picture_ here."

This surprised Master Flagg, and Bide held back a smile when he saw the old man try cover up his reaction. "Interesting. How so, young Shriek?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong, Master. I recognize the… evils inherent in the Dark Side. But how can you speak so absolutely about that which you do not understand? You have not experienced it first-hand, have you? Have any of the Masters?"

Bide knew he was dangerously close to allowing too much of his true self to be revealed, but he could not resist the opportunity to hear the prejudice of the Jedi with his own ears.

"You are correct in some regards, young Shriek. We cannot fully understand the Dark Side without immersing ourselves in its taint. But tell me, young Shriek, have you ever been shot by a blaster bolt?"

"No," he answered, perhaps a bit too quickly. He had indeed been shot, and he had the scars to prove it. These scars had, of course, been concealed with patches of synthflesh to make his cover more believable.

"Would you imagine being shot to be a particularly pleasant experience?"

"Probably not."

Master Flagg smiled, revealing a mouth full of small, yellowing teeth. "The Dark Side, then—would you imagine giving yourself over to such a malicious force to be righteous? Just? Fulfilling?"

His words were empty, vacant of any sincerity or real meaning, but Bide spoke them anyway. "No, Master Flagg, I imagine that it would be an unpleasant experience."

"Very good." The Master's unwavering milky eyes remained fixed on Bide for a few moments longer before returning to his lecture. "Now, as I was saying, the first Jedi to fall…"

The rest of the class passed uneventfully. Bide blocked out the remainder of Master Flagg's lecture, refusing to listen to any more of the nonsensical propaganda he spewed. _Perhaps one day I will have the pleasure of running him through with my lightsaber._

_My lightsaber._

Bide found himself staring at his empty weapon hand, longing to feel the familiar weight and texture of his hilt, when he felt a light tap on his right shoulder. Normally, he would have moved to trap, and potentially break, the appendage invading his personal space, but Ja'neel had warned him very strictly against such things—there was nothing to fear from the Jedi as long as they felt he was one of their own. He turned his head—noticing in his peripherals that most of the other Initiates had already left—and looked up. She was beautiful.

"Hey, Bide," said the young woman, a stunning Kiffar with a wondrous head of flowing golden hair. She stared at Bide with entrancing blue eyes, a cute smile present on her face. Bide searched his memory for her name and, after a few heartbeats, found it.

"Oh, hey there, Ache."

Ache Lee, the Initiate closest to Bide in age and, according to the Masters, the most brilliant mind among the younger Jedi. He had observed her in sparring sessions on several occasions, and though she seemed to struggle, Bide could sense a well of potential within her, just waiting to be tapped.

She walked around to Bide's front and sat down cross-legged in front of him. "That was an interesting class today, wasn't it?"

"Uh, yeah, I suppose. To be honest, I—"

"Tuned him out?" She smiled knowingly at him.

"Guilty," Bide said, smiling back at her. She giggled.

"Don't worry, I wasn't satisfied with his answer to your point, either. Without the Dark Side, there wouldn't be a Light Side—right?"

This surprised Bide. He didn't expect any Jedi, especially one as book-smart as Ache, to question anything the Masters said. Perhaps she _was_ as intelligent as everyone said.

"Good point. Why didn't you bring that up during class?"

Ache's pale skin flushed with embarrassment. "Well, I…I don't like to disagree with the Masters." She averted her gaze to the blue mat she was sitting on and began to fiddle with a loose thread.

"Why not? They aren't infallible. You're just as intelligent as they are." Smiling, he added: "Perhaps more intelligent."

Ache looked up at Bide and returned the smile. Bide thought he could see traces of a blush forming on her cheeks, but before he could be sure Ache jumped to her feet. "Thanks," she said quietly. Bide stood up slowly, finding his face only a foot from hers.

"No need to thank me. It's true." He locked gazes with her, losing himself in her mesmerizing blue eyes. After a few moments of awkward silence, Ache turned away and giggled. Bide shook off his momentary lapse in thought and stammered a response. "Uhh, anyway… I was about to get something to eat. Are you hungry? I'm buying."

Ache reached up and drew a loose lock of hair away from her face, trapping it behind her ear. She still had a smile on her face. "Well, sure, if _you're_ buying…"


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

She learned fast.

Bide was amazed at how quickly Ache had improved after just a few lessons. He watched her sparring session with great interest; her smooth, fluid motions, and how her golden hair flowed as she ducked and spun. She was fighting a lanky Human initiate of average talent. His orange lightsaber seemed to move in slow motion, at least to Bide, as it blocked an aggressive set of attacks from Ache intended to achieve _sun djem_—the term the Jedi used for disarming one's opponent.

But she never got it. The lanky Initiate blocked the final attack of her set, twisted his wrists and, with only a slight slip, pivoted around Ache and kicked her feet from under her. Her training lightsaber dropped from her grip, and she found the humming orange blade of her opponent inches from her face.

"The match goes to Initiate Gher," announced the presiding Master, a blue-skinned Twi'lek named Kalo Sindesh. While Bide had utter distaste for _all_ the Jedi, he disliked this Master the least. He was knowledgeable enough about lightsaber combat for Bide to pay attention at least half the time. Of course, he was, from what Bide could tell, far below Ja'neel's level, but he had to concede that he would not be able to handle the bulky Twi'lek himself.

"The next match will be between Initiates Shriek and Leem." Master Sindesh's eyes were fixed on Bide and he was smirking. Bide was well aware that Master Sindesh considered him the most "promising" student in the class, and Leem to be his closest match. Of course, what the Twi'lek did _not_ know was that Bide was far more skilled than anyone in the Temple knew. In time, they would all know—but for now, he had to play his part. He uncrossed his legs and rose from the uncomfortably hard ground, stepped over a few classmates, and made his way into the center of the room. He smiled at Ache as she walked back to her seat; she smiled back and flashed him a thumbs-up.

The training room was unfurnished, with the exception of a half-dozen mats on the upper level—a glass-encased balcony which could be accessed only through the Council chambers—and painted a brilliant white. The flawless white of the walls and ceiling was an odd juxtaposition to the center of the room, which was slightly elevated and covered with a dark blue mat—the reason for this eyesore was something Bide had yet to discern.

Bide was joined on the mat by his opponent, the silver-skinned Teevan named Trem Leem. He was an arrogant Jedi, confident in his abilities as a swordsman and wielder of the Force, and his high academic standing among his fellow Initiates bolstered this confidence. He was always surrounding by an air of condescending superiority, and his face was never without an annoying smirk that betrayed just how superior he felt he was. Bide intended to inspire Trem to undergo a change of heart.

Master Sindesh nodded at both of the Initiates. "The match will continue until one of you loses your weapon. Are you ready?" Bide and Trem both nodded their heads slowly, unclipping their hilts from their belts. "Begin!"

Trem, confident smirk ever-present on his face, leapt towards Bide, blue lightsaber shimmering over his head. His silver eyes glistened with confidence—confidence that he was the best; that he would defeat Bide. But his eyes lost that glisten when Bide simply stood still, lightsaber still lifeless in his left hand. Confused, the Teevan cut his jump short and rolled backward when his feet hit the ground.

"What're you doing? Turn your lightsaber on!" he shouted angrily.

Bide smiled and shrugged. "That isn't a requirement for this exercise. We were instructed to fight until one of us lost our weapon." He held his hilt up and waved it in the air. "I still have mine. You're welcome to try and take it."

Trem looked helplessly over to Master Sindesh, who simply shrugged and continued to observe the pair. Trem grumbled in annoyance and opted for a different tactic. He extended his hand towards Bide and, visibly gathering the Force, launched a Force push at him.

Bide could not help but laugh. He anchored his feet to the ground with the Force and allowed the harmless attack to buffet him. His hair was visibly ruffled, but he was otherwise unharmed. A few of the observing students laughed. Master Sindesh perked a brow in curiosity.

"Come on!" urged Trem. "Fight back! Are you scared to fight me?"

"_Terrified_. I would concede the match right now, but I'm frozen with fear. Can't drop my hilt."

Trem, livid at this point, lost all semblance of patience and ran towards Bide, lightsaber still humming. He swung with a strong two-handed grip for Bide's left hand, in which he held his hilt, eager to end the match. Bide took one step forward and, in one fluid motion, clipped his lightsaber to his belt and sent a powerful front-kick into Trem's approaching hands. A sickening _pop_ was heard, and Trem's hilt clattered lifelessly onto the blue mat.

"The match goes to Initiate Shriek," announced Master Sindesh. He stepped onto the mat and approach Trem, who was now on his knees, holding his dislocated wrist. "Trem, go to the infirmary and have Master Kiehl look at your wrist." Trem nodded and, after fixing Bide with a look of disgust, walked off the mat and out of the room.

"What we have just seen, class," continued Master Sindesh, "is a very accurate impersonation of _dun moch._ Does anyone here know what that is?"

As Ache's hand shot into the air, Bide grinned. Of course she knew what it was. Master Sindesh nodded at Ache, who stood up and spoke. "_Dun moch_ is a battle tactic employed by Force Users who use the Dark Side. It usually consists of verbal abuse of one's opponent in an attempt to cause him or her to fight sloppily, on pure emotion." She remained standing, as if contemplating whether her answer was sufficient. Master Sindesh nodded and motioned for her to take her seat again.

"Very good, Ache. You're quite right." He turned to Bide and fixed him with an inquisitive stare. "Was this an intentional impersonation of such a tactic, Bide?"

Bide reached up and absent-mindedly combed his hair with his fingers. "Well, I suppose it was. I stumbled upon _dun moch_ in my studies, and was curious to see how combating a lightsaber with words would turn out. I think it worked pretty well."

"It worked, yes—but was it _right?_ By employing _dun moch_, you strive to control your opponent, mislead him with your words. You cause him to turn to relying on pure emotion when fighting. There is no emotion; there is peace, Bide. Pushing _anyone_, even your opponent in the direction of the Dark Side is a malicious effort. You should not wish anyone to be lured onto the path of evil."

_Evil._

There it was again. The Jedi, with all of their abilities of foresight, with their practically limitless resources, were blind. Conceited. Bide longed to see the day when the Jedi were struck with the realization that theirs was not the best path; not the _right_ path. For all their power, they were weak. For all their wisdom, they were ignorance. For all their stoicism, they were ridden with emotions.

But among them Bide saw potential, and it had shimmering golden hair and deep blue eyes. He looked at her when he spoke, and suddenly had the urge to be alone with her. "Okay, Master Sindesh," he said plainly, and stepped down from the mat. The Twi'lek Master frowned and seemed to want to say more, but was at a loss for words. What more was there to say?

Bide watched the remaining matches in silence, waiting for the feeling of freedom he felt when Master Sindesh announced the end of class. And, when he did, Bide immediately sought out Ache among the crowd of students hurrying out of the room.

"You fought really well today," he said once he found her. "Maybe a bit too… structured in your attack patterns, but you've improved a lot in the past few days."

Ache smiled, her full pink lips spreading to reveal perfect white teeth. "But not enough to win a match."

"Just give it some time. It's not something you learn overnight."

"You seemed to catch on pretty quickly," she replied. "Not that you even need a lightsaber to win anymore."

Bide laughed. "Well, Jedi are supposed to advocate non-violence, right? If you can get your opponent to more or less defeat himself without having to use a lightsaber, aren't you solving a situation through non-violent means?"

"I…" Ache furrowed her brow in thought. "I guess that makes sense. But Master Sindesh said that it could turn someone towards the Dark Side. That would be wrong."

"That's a very generalized response. Just look at Trem—did he turn to the Dark Side? Did his eyes turn yellow, and bolts of lightning shoot from his fingertips?"

When Ache did not response, instead fixing him with a look of concern, Bide sighed and pointed back to the mat. "Never mind _dun moch_. Let's work on a few lightsaber drills, shall we?"

She stared at him curiously for a few moments longer, then smiled gently and nodded.

_You'll see the truth in my words soon enough,_ thought Bide as he stepped back onto the blue mat of the training room. _You'll see that there is more to the Force than right and wrong, dark and light. You'll see power._

_And through power, you gain victory. Through victory, Ache, your chains will be broken. I will set you free._


	11. Chapter 11

**Jedi Outpost, Dantooine**

"The following students have been paired together for the exercise," spoke Master Flagg, his voice crisp and clear despite its inherently hushed nature. The high, rounded ceiling managed to grab even the old Corellian Master's voice and amplify it loudly into the eardrums of every student, making sure that, unless they were making a strong effort to ignore the old Jedi, they would hear every word he was saying. "As I call your name, please step forward and pick up the gear labeled with the appropriate group name."

Bide allowed himself a long, disgusted sigh. Training exercises that "attempt to recreate situations Jedi might find themselves in should a mission go wrong," as Master Flagg so eloquently put it, struck him as absurdly juvenile. All of the students in the room were well into their teenage years, at the youngest. Why not simply send them on an actual mission? If it happened to go wrong, they would gain invaluable experience; if it went smoothly, then there would still be experience to be gained.

"Oh," he said, not intending to speak out loud, but in doing so attracting the curious glances of several nearby students. Why did he care how the Jedi trained their students? He wasn't here to receive training, he was here to gather intelligence. Monitor the movements of his _sworn enemy_. But the icy repugnance for the Jedi ingrained in him by his Sith Master, the trained hatred that caused him to regard the clueless students sitting cross-legged around him as his enemy, to take on this very mission, warmed slightly as he caught the gaze of the beautiful Ache Grace. When she noticed that he was staring at her, she smiled and tilted her head ever so slightly to the side, a habit that Bide found would unfailingly cause him to blush and turn away.

"Well, Jedi Shriek? Are you planning on stepping forward any time soon?"

Bide looked up at the time-ravaged face of Master Flagg, now regarding Bide with perked eyebrows and an impatient frown.

"Oh. Yeah, sorry," he replied absently, noticing as he approached the front of the room that he was the first of his three-person team to be called.

"Thank you for your punctuality, Jedi Shriek. Surely, I won't regret my decision to appoint you the team captain. Now, the remaining two members of your group will be Trem Leem and Ache Grace." Bide's heart sank and rose simultaneously. He couldn't stand the self-absorbed Teevan with an overly-inflated ego. But then there was Ache. "Pick up the gear labeled_Team Mynock_ and head to the hangar. A pilot will drop you off at your assigned location, where you will find instructions describing your mission objectives. You have twenty-four hours to complete the mission and find your way back here."

Trem and Ache, now at the front of the room with Bide, nodded and bowed to Master Flagg. Bide, noticing this, grumbled and bowed awkwardly to the aging Master before turning his attention to the three bulky travel bags labeled _Team Mynock. _They all looked the same, so he reached for the one closest to him-and found his hand slapped aside by a smaller, paler hand.

"That would be _my_ bag, Shriek," spat Trem, lifting and shouldering the bag in one smooth motion. He locked gazes with Bide for only a brief moment before chuckling and walking towards the hangar. Bide clenched his jaw, resisting the fiery desire to bombard the Teevan with lightning burgeoning within him. The familiar, gentle touch on his shoulder squelched whatever remnants of this desire were left.

"Just ignore him, Bide," said the soft, angelic voice of Ache Grace. "Don't let him get to you. This exercise affects my grade, too, remember?" There was that smile again. Bide couldn't help but nod and return the smile.

"You're right. Sorry, Ache."

"You have nothing to be sorry about, Bide. Well, not yet anyway. But if you mess up my grade I'll have to beat you up, okay?" She winked at him, lifting her pack onto her shoulder and following Trem into the hangar.

**_Team Mynock LZ_****, Dantooine**

"Good luck, kids!" shouted the pilot as the _Raptor_-class transport, armed with a rather intimidating array of missile tubes and assault cannons, lifted from the clearing and blasted off into the distance. The trio watched it fade into the distance until not even Bide's trained eyes could pick it out of the overcast sky.

The landing zone was unremarkable, a small, circular clearing of trees amidst the vast forested surface of Dantooine. In the center was a single durasteel crate, atop which sat a faintly glowing lantern. The trees cast long shadows which enveloped the entire clearing, and Bide could tell from the look of the lantern that it was running low on energy. He strode over and clicked the power switch, shutting down the lantern. He turned to Ache.

"Doesn't give off much light, but we might as well conserve what power it has. You never know when you might need some light," he stated matter-of-factly. He unstrapped his pack from his shoulders, dropping it to the ground. When it made contact with the ground, an odd sound like a handful of marbles striking a wooden floor resounded. Out of the corner of his eye Bide could see Ache and even Trem, who up until this point had been staring absently at the spot in the sky where the transport had disappeared, turn their attention to him.

"What was that?" asked Ache curiously.

Bide was fairly certain he knew what to expect when he opened his pack, but he had to be sure. He unbuckled the strap that covered the opening in the pack's top and looked inside.

"What's in there?" Trem asked cautiously. It seemed to occur to all three of them at once that they had not even bothered to look inside their supply packs before departing.

Bide did not reply. Instead he lifted the mesh drawstring bag out of his pack and dropped it onto the floor. The same sound resounded as the bag of rocks struck the floor.

"Great. Just _kriffing _great," swore Trem, as he removed an identical mesh bag from his supply pack. He and Bide turned to look Ache as she unbuckled her pack and peered at its contents.

"Well," she said hesitantly, "at least we have each other?" She removed a third useless mesh bag of rocks and dropped it onto the ground.

"Oh, yeah, that's just _wonderful_. Because I would rather have you two and three bags of rocks than food and supplies," retorted Trem. He was about to continue his rant when Bide interrupted.

"Watch it, Trem. We _all_ forgot to check our supply packs before we left, don't take it out on her." He paused a moment before adding, "Besides, we're not exactly jumping with joy because we were paired with you."

Trem snorted in amusement. "Oh, gee, sorry _captain._ I'll be sure to think before I insult your girlfriend over here."

Bide's knuckles began to turn white as he clenched his fists. The only thing preventing him from ending the Teevan's miserable life there and then was Ache's admonishing stare. Trem smirked at Bide's inaction, and turned on his heel and walked towards the southern end of the clearing. "While you stay here and perform your captainly duties, I'll be doing something useful like scouting the area."

Bide waited until Trem was well out of earshot before letting out the breath he had been holding in. He was so consumed by the thought of wringing the life out of the Teevan that he almost didn't hear the faint and familiar click of the safety being released on a blaster rifle. He leapt towards Ache with speed that took her off-guard and tackled her to the ground just as a beam of energy seared the spot where she stood just a heartbeat earlier. Bide was already on his feet, scarlet lightsaber humming his hands, guarding the shaken Ache from the follow-up attack he was sure would come.

But it never did. Bide stood there for what seemed like an eternity before assuring himself it was safe. He shut off his lightsaber and clipped it to his belt.

"Are you okay, Ache?" he asked, voice full of concern. The attractive Kiffar still lay on the ground, formerly pristine tan robes now stained with dirt and grass, her blue eyes wide with fear.

"Ache?" he repeated when she did not answer.

Her eyes re-focused, and she shifted her gaze towards Bide. Her lips trembled as she attempted to speak. "I-I... y-yeah, I think so. Thanks, Bide." She took a deep breath before speaking again. "What was that?"

"Blaster rifle. The blast was pretty accurate, so if I had to guess I'd say our assailant was a professional."

"Like... a bounty hunter?" she asked timidly.

"Could be. Don't forget, Ache, that not everyone out there likes what yo-er, we do. For a lot of people, we qualify as "bad for business"."

Ache nodded, though Bide wasn't entirely sure that she was focused on what he was saying. She was staring at the blaster burn in the tree at the end of the clearing. Bide knelt down beside her and gently placed his hand on her shoulder. "Don't be afraid, Ache. Remember, _"There is no emotion, there is peace,"_ right?"

The words were like poison on Bide's tongue, and he had to resist the urge to throw up. Had he really just said that? Quickly, he added: "And besides, I'm right here with you. I won't let anything happen to you." Bide wasn't sure which remark solicited the reaction, but Ache turned and smiled at him.

"R-right. I'm sorry, I've just never been shot at before-not like this, anyway."

Bide extended a hand a helped Ache to her feet. "Don't worry about it. Now, let's open this thing up and figure out what we have to do," he said, running his hand along the top of the durasteel crate. He hit the release panel, and with a hiss of air the lid of the crate slid open.

Ache stood behind Bide hesitantly. "Not more rocks, is it?"

Bide shook his head as he reached into the crate. "Not much more useful, though," he said, removing a datapad, the crate's only contents, and waving it in front of Ache. "I guess they really want to stress the whole, 'check your pack before you leave' deal, huh?"

"Guess so. What's it say?"

The datapad flickered to life as Bide depressed the power button. An image of Master Flagg appeared on the screen. It must have been recorded years earlier for the same exercise, because Bide could make out streaks of black in his now gray now.

_"Greetings, young Jedi. At this point, I expect that you have taken inventory of what supplies you now have at your disposal. For the more forgetful among you, that is not very much at all. Though I must say that in my experience I have found that a bag of rocks can come in handy when you least expect it. Anyway, your mission is one that we, as Jedi, receive quite often. You will make your way to the coordinates provided at the end of this message. There, you will find your charge-someone you must protect. You must escort and protect them as they complete their own objective, and then return them safely to the outpost. Good luck."_

A string of coordinates flashed across the screen, and Bide committed them to memory immediately. He checked his watch and quickly estimated that the pick-up point was about a two hour trek from this location-if he moved at their speed, that is. He was about to relay this information to Ache when a bloodcurdling scream erupted in the forest. The source of the scream was unmistakable.

"Trem," Ache gasped and bolted into the forest.


	12. Chapter 12

**Dantooine**

Running through a forest, Bide decided, was very much like running through a crowded city-or so it was for Force-attuned beings. Bide could feel the gazes of dozens of creatures trained on him, some very obviously radiating malicious intentions, others fearfully keeping track of him, and still others regarding him with a sense of guarded curiosity. But for the most part, these Force signatures radiated a feeling very familiar to Bide: focused determination. They were hunters, and he and Ache were the prey. Of course, Bide would not let any harm befall Ache; he followed her closely enough that he could come to her aid if she needed it, but not so closely that they made easy targets for the more crafty fauna one would find on Dantooine.

But while Bide's mind worked with the speed and efficiency of a well-maintenanced astromech droid, absorbing as many details as he could about the ever-moving hostile environment he now found himself in, he also knew that Ache was doing none of these things. Her mind was centered around a single, selfless task: locate and rescue the obviously-distressed Trem Leem. This task, Bide thought, was a waste of time. If the circumstances were different, if Ache and Trem were training to be Sith warriors, Trem would have been left to fend for himself. If he survived whatever ill had befallen him, he would return a wiser and more prepared warrior; if he failed to survive, well, then there was very little use for him in the first place.

The thick, damp odor of trees and wild plants began to thin, and in the distance Bide could see light breaking through the tree-line. A clearing. But even from a distance of two hundred meters, Bide could tell that the clearing was small: a perfect spot for an ambush. He quickened his pace now, ducking under thick blackish-brown branches, leaping over moss-covered logs, until he was only a few steps behind Ache. His steps were deliberate, careful; he did not snap a single twig or rustle more leaves than was necessary to follow his course. If Ache noticed he was behind her now, she didn't show it.

Opening himself to the Force, Bide was overwhelmed by the focused determination he felt earlier. He extended his awareness even further, trying to pinpoint the source of these feelings; trying to find the creatures who were about to make he and Ache their prey.

They were on him before he could react. A flash of purple fur and white bone streaked in front of Bide's face, and another narrowely missed his hip. His hand shot down towards his belt, trying to unclip his lightsaber. But it was gone. Caught off-guard by his weapon's absence, he did not sense the second kath hound behind him. Pain shot up his right leg as the creature's horn pierced his thigh. He felt his pant leg dampen with blood.

But the pain gave him focus, made him more attuned to the Force. Even without his lightsaber, Bide was a formidable warrior. Opening himself to the Force again, Bide extended his awareness three hundred and sixty degrees around him. He could hear the leaves rustling as the kath hounds prepared for another, more fierce attack; the first two creatures had merely served as a gauge of Bide's strength. He shut out these sounds, however, relying completely on his Force awareness. In his mind's eye he could see the entire forest, glowing brightly with life. It was a calm, steady feeling; the forest itself never radiated anything but pure life, no emotions. But around himself Bide could also feel the determination and satisfaction of the kath hounds, now having drawn the first blood from their prey. It was not darkness, exactly, that he felt. Not the same feeling his Master-or, under different circumstances, he himself-would radiate. Rather, the kath hounds were simply attacking him because they _had to_ in order to live, not to climb the totem of power or test the limits of their strength.

Then there was Ache. Bide could see her, too, in the Force. She glowed brightly with life, though she now radiated confusion and worry rather than her usual jubilation. She had stopped her pursuit of Trem, now, and was instead scanning the forest for someone or something.

For Bide.

Sensing that the kath hounds were poised for a second attack, he nudged Ache away with the Force. He focused, sending her a single word before returning his attention to his assailants.

_ Go._

The kath hounds struck in greater number this time. Three leapt from the cover of thick, leafy bushes, heads angled downwards so that the points of their upwardly-curving horns were targeting Bide's legs and midsection. But the experienced warrior was ready for this. He shifted fluidly to a solid Teras Kasi defensive posture, then swiftly cracked the heel of his boot onto the skull of the closest kath hound. Using the downward momentum, he planted his right hand onto the ground in front of him, balanced himself, then sent a powerful push-kick into the snout of a second kath hound. It whimpered as it flew several meters backwards into the bush it had emerged from. Bide gestured at the remaining kath hound, now only a meter from his abdomen, with his free hand, grasping it in the Force and sending it crashing into the base of a nearby tree. It crumpled to the ground and did not move again.

Bide could sense more kath hounds around him now, some radiating concern, others frustration and anger. The bush to his right moved, and as it did he could hear a faint metallic click. He recognized the noise.

Bide whipped the powerful DL-44 blaster pistol from its holster on his right thigh, cringing ever so slightly as the motion irritated the wound inflicted on him by the kath hound. He made a mental note to bandage it up as soon as he dealt with his newest attacker.

The attack came from out of nowhere.

No malicious intent, no warning from the Force wised Bide to it. A blunt object slammed into the left side of Bide's skull, causing his vision to blurry. The last thing he saw before darkness overcame him was a face shrouded in shadows staring down at him.

_A metallic click. It was unmistakable. Someone was unclipping a lightsaber from its belt clip. But where? In front? No, behind. _

_ An anomaly in the Force. Too late. My head. Block out the pain, stay conscious. Fight the darkness._

"Well, Bide Shriek, I must say that the circumstances of our meeting are far different than I expected," said the voice. It echoed in Bide's head, piercing his dreams and wrenching him from his semi-conscious state. His eyes shot open, and he leapt to his feet.

Or he would have, had he not been bound to the thick trunk of a blba tree. Its bark was smooth and cool despite the height of the sun. Quickly, Bide surveyed his surroundings. He was in the center of a clearing-the same clearing, he guessed, that he had seen earlier. There were three figures in front of him, two prone, one standing. He recognized the one standing as the shrouded figure he had seen before he succumbed to unconsciousness. His blood boiled with anger as he recognized Ache as one of the bodies lying on the ground. Her normally pristine blonde hair was soiled by a red stain, clearly blood. Next to her, Bide could tell from a simple probe of the Force, was Trem Leem. From what he could see, Trem was uninjured.

"You speak as if you know who I am," Bide retorted. He shifted slightly, testing the strength of his binds. He was strapped to the tree by high-tension rappelling cable; it would be impossible for him to break it with brute force. The cable seemed to be surrounded in Force energy, as well. Someone was keeping it protected from tampering by the Force. He'd have to figure out another way to break free.

"That's because I do know who you are, _Jedi_ Shriek." The shrouded figured placed knowing stress on the word Jedi. "I've been following your progress for quite some time, and I have to say that I am unimpressed. Your current level of strength is far below the potential I can feel emanating from you."

Bide perked a brow at this. Just who was this mysterious figure?

"Ah, you're curious, aren't you? You want to know who I am? How I know you?" A hint of anger lined his voice. The Force was very suddenly flooded with an overwhelming aura of power as the figure removed his hood, revealing a heavily scarred, haggard face. But it was a young face, Bide could tell. A face that, like his, had seen countless battles.

"My name is Paradox," he said, and then after a brief pause he smirked. "That is the title that the Dark Lord gave to me, anyway."

Bide's heart sank. Dark Lord? Could Ja'neel have seized the throne in his absence? Did he take a new apprentice? Anger seeped steadily into the Force as Bide calculated the various possibilities.

Paradox laughed heartily. "So easy to read, Bide Shriek. Don't worry, your worthless Master didn't abandon you. He still thinks that the mantle of the Dark Lord of the Sith is rightfully his, and that you are a worthy successor. As I have just proved, with disappointing ease, he is sadly mistaken. I do hope that your Master does not so disappoint the Dark Lord when they inevitably duel."

Bide growled. "If he is so mistaken, then unbind me. I'll show you how _worthless_ I am." He flexed his biceps, testing the strength of the ropes once more.

"Come now, even you know that it's pointless to struggle. Those cables won't break that easily. But if you're so eager to fight, I don't see why I should deny you the pleasure, especially when we're lucky enough to have such a large audience." Paradox gestured to Ache and Trem, whose bodies rose into the air and slowly moved towards him.

"The girl... she's quite beautiful, isn't she? Maybe I'll take her as a prize after I kill you." He stroked her cheek gently with his index finger, smiling as he did so. "Yes, I think I'll do that."

It took all of his focus to do so, but Bide controlled his temper. He could not afford to let his feelings for Ache come to light. "Good luck taking her when you're dead. Maybe _I'll_ take her for my own," he said, forcing himself to smirk.

Paradox paused a moment before chuckling. "You almost had me there, Shriek. So, are you and the Jedi girl a couple? How does that work, exactly? Does she look the other way while you go do Sith things for your Master?"

"Just let me go and I'll tell you, you piece of bantha poodo." Paradox simply shrugged and waved his hand in Bide's direction. The cable slackened and fell to the floor at his feet. Bide massaged his arms where the cable had dug into his flesh, leaving the skin red and raw.

"You'll probably be needing this," said Paradox as he tossed something towards Bide. A shining metallic cylinder landed in Bide's outstretched hand. It felt familiar in his grasp-it was his lightsaber. "I guess _your_ Master never taught you the importance of keeping track of your lightsaber. It's an invaluable tool."

Paradox unbuttoned and shrugged off his heavy cloak, exposing a bare torso that was as heavily scarred as his face. He was lean and muscular, with a single tattoo on his left pectoral that, quite curiously, read: _I was not chosen._ But even more curious was the strange marking around his neck. The flesh there was red, raw, in the shape of a necklace on the end of which hung a large cylindrical medallion.

"Now then, let's awaken our audience, shall we?" There was a surge in the Force, and Bide could sense that Trem and Ache were regaining consciousness. He cursed under his breath. It was clear to him that Paradox was very powerful and, judging by the scars on his body, equally as experienced. Bide doubted that he would be able to defeat him without relying on the dark side-but doing so would blow his cover as a Jedi, wasting the months he had spent on the mission. Ja'neel would not be pleased.

Bide stole a glance over at Ache, who was now accustoming her eyes to the light of the clearing.. Trem, it seemed, was more preoccupied with Paradox, and paid Bide little heed. Ache's gaze met Bide's, and she wrinkled her nose in confusion.

_Snap-hiss._ Paradox ignited his crimson lightsaber. He acknowledged Bide with a flawless Makashi salute, then slowly shifted into a mid-guard. Bide activated his own blade, flourished, and fell into his own battle stance. For a brief moment, Bide analyzed Paradox's stance, looking for a flaw; looking for an opening.

And, to his dismay, there was none. It was perfect. Bide scowled visibly, tightening the grip on his hilt.

"Getting angry, eh? Impressive, isn't it? You'll notice that my defense is flawless; you won't be able to get through it. The Dark Lord is the most proficient swordsman ever to live. I learned from the best."

"We'll see," Bide said simply. He leapt towards Paradox with impressive speed, launching a series of furious attacks. At the end of his attacks, Bide grinned as he saw an opening-he went for it.

_Crack_.

His attempt at exploiting the opening was met with a backhanded hilt smash to the nose. Bide staggered back a few steps and refocused his blurry vision. Paradox had not so much as moved a step.

"You'll have to fight with all of your might, Bide Shriek, if you hope to ever match me. Use your _anger_. Your _hatred_. Your _disdain_ for me. Fight me, Bide Shriek!"

Again, the Force was flooded with anger. Ache and Trem cringed visibly; they could feel it, too.

As Bide reached deeply into the well of power he had not touched for so long, he could feel Ache's lucid blue eyes staring at him as she recited the words that, coming from anyone else, was poison to him:

_"There is no emotion, there is peace."_

Bide Shriek was tempted.


End file.
